Ma copie, mon amour
by MelaRossa
Summary: A series of memories of the pain and beauty of Beyond Birthday, and his copy, L. Oh, was it the other way around? My mistake... BBxL
1. First Meeting

**Um.. Hello!**

**Please forgive me, this is my first Fan fiction, (I once wrote a story but it went horribly... Eh...) and I'm afraid I'm not very good at it. At all. Haha...**

**Please forgive this poor work, for which I apologize.**

**Reviews are welcome, no matter how cruel. No reviews is as bad as negative reviews, so please don't feel put off. If anything, I'd like to hear what's wrong with it!**

**If this story isn't a complete monstrosity, I would like to turn it into a series of BBxL drabbles.**

**Thank you for taking the time to read, or at least skim through, this text. Apologies again for poor work.**

**~MelaRossa**

* * *

><p>L knew.<p>

He instantly knew.

It clicked in his head like a switch. It was like a light being turned on. Like an activation in his brain that required no action other than seeing his face. Emotionless, distant; but somehow naturally piercing, his eyes bore through anyone who looked into them.

That may have been why he became so pleased when he was the same height as L.

To stand and put his face so close.

Watching the detective squirm was a victory in itself.

From the moment those huge, wild, childish eyes—eyes that had already viewed enough blood to satisfy your average serial killer for a respectable amount of time—gazed up at him (…No, above him? Above his head. Perhaps at such an age, he felt some effect of L's intimidating appearance; either way, if he had, it was gone by the time he entered his young teenage years.), the 9-year-old raven-haired detective knew two things. (Albeit, he had already begun to suspect one when Quilish had explained this boy's situation and how he had behaved in it, but meeting him only confirmed it.)

One. This boy was abnormally abnormal, even for the sugar-craving-9-year-old-orphaned-raven-haired-imsoniac-detective. This in itself gives the average person some idea of the bizarre aura the child possessed about him.

And the second?

That he—that Beyond Birthday—would greatly impact his life in a way nobody but L could have predicted: That this boy would be the reason he would willingly embrace death with open arms, many, many years later.

But perhaps not nearly enough.

And, should he ever had been asked—if one could ask—L would deny that he was murdered by a super-natural mass serial killer known to the world as Kira.

To his final heart-beating moments, he stayed adamant that his killer had been no other than Beyond—B.B.

His Back-up.


	2. Poison and Pigeons

**These 'fics won't be in order of date. They're going to be completely randomly placed, I'm afraid. Sorry.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**

The 17-year old looked down and the twisted body spread across the floor. Not an unusual sight for him, but, still.

"What are you doing?" The young detective inquired, owl-like eyes blinking at the figure's face, whose tongue was lolling to the side.

"Nyam dhnyed." The body decided not to put his tongue back in before replying.

"..You're dead?"

"Mnyeph."

"...Why are you dead?"

He pulled his tongue back into his mouth."I should not be replying to your questions. I am dead. The dead do not state why they are dead."

L cocked his head to the side. "That would make my life much easier."

"You're a very lazy detective." The "corpse" retorted.

Shrugging it off, "Did you want me to deduce why you seem to have died?"

The corpse flung his head to the side and gave a series of "dying coughs", which was neither a rejection nor confirmation. Just a declaration that he was dead. As if his previous statement "I'm dead." hadn't been enough to explain the situation.

L twisted his head around, stepping carefully around the scene of the crime. He placed his thumb to his lip in a usual thinking pose, hunched over, and "Hmmm"-ing for added effect.

"There's no blood, nor signs of breaking and entering. There's no clearly visible external wounds, proving the killer either used internal methods or was extremely careful to cover his tracks. The body—" He placed a foot on the corpse's stomach. "- Is still warm, so the act must have been relatively recent. However, the unusual..." Indicating to the limbs laying in all directions on the floor, "..Position of the body would indicate it has been moved, or the victim died overly-dramatically and flailing, causing as much fuss as it could."

The corpse grunted.

L smiled at the noise, squatting down into his regular fetal position and leaning over the body, his face edging closer to the open jaw.

"Was it..." He placed a hand under the jaw and lifted the other's face towards his own. "Poisoning?"

The corpse said nothing, gazing up at the elder boy.

And then, closer, until...

The door slammed from the lower level of the orphanage.

"_B, YOU LITTLE BRAT! YOU BETTER GET DOWN HERE AND GET THOSE BIRDS OUT OF THE KITCHEN RIGHT NOW, OR I SWEAR TO GOD-"_

L blinked.

B, the until-now-corpse, blinked back.

"I deduce the victim was aware he was about to suffer a worse-than-death torture from Roger and committed suicide."

"Right on the mark. Great job. Now, if you'll excuse me-" B promptly leapt up from his dying-position and fled from the room.

"..."

The insomniac spontaneously threw himself to the ground.

"Here's to my love. O true apothecary. Thy drugs are quick. Thus, with a kiss, I die." He uttered to the empty room, as if it requested an explanation.

The moment was only slightly ruined by the sound of a pigeon that had been released into the cafeteria smashing into the chandelier.

Ah, well.

**I know this one is very quick and lame, but I'm afraid it's 3 in the morning as I type this, ****haha. Sorry~!**


	3. Last Silence

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**

Although fully aware of his presence, L made no indications of verbally acknowledging his entering into the comfortably-sized bedroom. He simply let the figure stand at the doorway, observing L's actions. Slightly frustrated at the lack of greeting, the figure, B, opted for starting a conversation rather than being brought into one.

"Packing?" He enquired, though the notion of packing was fairly obvious.

"Mm." The raven didn't bother to look around.

"You're leaving?" Despite being portrayed as a question, it had been a statement.

"In three hours." L reached for another shirt, failing miserably at folding the previous, simply shoving it in a lump into the suitcase.

Fully aware he would hate the reply, the younger male couldn't not ask. "You were going to wake everyone up between One to Four to say goodbye? Only 27% of us are insomniacs, you know. Including yourself and Whammy. Well, I suppose Near too, but he's only up trying to silence Mello..." He trailed off.

Pausing, L allowed his hair to fall over his face. "There wasn't time to wait..." he murmured, as if speaking to the room and not to the person in it.

B kicked the floor with the tip of his toe. "When was the last time you said goodbye before leaving?"

"You don't have the right to say that. You've never said a word before disappearing for weeks at a time, and-"

"The right? Why should I bother telling someone if I want to get away from this _shit-hole_ for a while? Do you think _Roger_ would care? Do you think anyone would care?"

_'It wasn't always a shit-hole.'_

L span around on his heels and glared. "Don't try to guilt me into staying. Acting all unloved and heartbroken doesn't work on me, _Back-up_. You should know that by now." The words were sharp, but he made it seem as if he'd wanted to soften them by his tone.

"I wasn't guilting you, _Lawliet_. You're far too dead inside to feel guilt, and I'm quite aware of that."

Opening his mouth to bite back, the detective retreated and returned to "packing" his clothes, bitterly. Fighting with B again wouldn't change the situation, so it was pointless to waste the energy. Returning to pathetically trying to stuff four pairs of his regular white, long sleeved tops into his suitcase, L remained silent, while the younger of the two quietly fumed, biting his lip in annoyance. He scraped the soft skin back and fourth, feeling the layers peel off under his teeth.

"Oh, and don't bite your lip. You'll bleed." Without even looking behind him to check; L knew B well enough to tell how he was reacting to a situation without looking. It came as naturally as breathing.

The successor scoffed. "You do."

_Exhale._

"Don't run off while I'm gone again. Roger panics that you'll do something stupid, and then he uses the emergency line, and then he has to destroy the phone, and it's all a waste of time."

"But it's okay to go when you're here?"

"Because I can assure him you aren't going to steal a tractor or something of the sort." Staring at his successor from the corner or his eye and smirking a little, pained as it was.

"That was just one time. You all act like I do it regularly."

"Once is quite enough, I assure you..." L snickered under his breath at the memory of the unfazed expression on the face of the boy being pulled out of a ditch from an upside down farmer's tractor, acting as if the crash had been intentional.

"...Except..." His voice so soft, L almost questioned if he had imagined it. "When you're here, I have no reason to leave." BB's eyelashes seemed to hide his eyes as if embarrassed, despite the fact he held no shame for the confession. Not like they both didn't know it. It wasn't like they hadn't said it before.

"Because I'm the only reason you stay here." Despite being portrayed as a statement, it had been a question.

"..."

"..."

Silence.

Awkward, uncomfortable silence.

Because silence speaks more than words, anyway.

Because even the fighting, the yelling, the screaming, and the arguing over the simplest of things didn't hurt as much as saying a few words. A few words that people, other people, say on a daily basis.

Because silence hurts more than saying "You're the reason I'm still here."

And because silence is easier than confessing that it isn't a mutual feeling; that even knowing he was the only reason the boy still stood at the dusty oak doorway, leaning back with his foot digging into the floor until his toes turned white just for something to do other than walk up to the man he loved, _always loved_, grab him, and kiss the air out of their lungs...

But saying nothing was still easier.

Not saying "Goodbye." hurt less.

L gripped his suitcase, looking in every direction but at B's face.

He walked past him.

_'There's nothing to hold on to any more.'_

He didn't flinch when his sleeve was grabbed. No reaction, no eye-contact. Just waiting for it to pass...

_'Just let go.'_

The grasp was loosened. L continued out of the room, not so much as looking back.

_'I don't believe in saying goodbye until the very last meeting, anyway.'_

Beyond felt the warm, wet, trickle of red down from his lower lip dripping from his chin as his listened for the footsteps, waiting for them to fade into the halls.

"So, this is our goodbye?"

_'Were you counting down the days?'_

Droplets of red splashed onto his top, the colour spreading out on the white like blooming flowers.

"And you never said it."

_'I can't help but despise you.'_

**Lack of reviews means a lower chance of finding out about Beyond's Whimsical Tractor Experience(s)~**

**Oh, and for the notice, the italics are going to be quotes from previous events, not just one single event.**

**Thank you for reading!**


	4. A Farmer's Displeasure Part 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**

"…Oh, _this_ is going to end well."

"Shut up, A. What did you ever get right?"

"…You know what, C? Fuck you. Fuck you until you die in…. In a brothel, like the little slut you are."

"Come at me, bitch! But just so you know, if you do fuck me, I'll be thinking of your mother the whole time~!"

BB rolled his eyes, clambering up dirty step, successfully coating his front with mud and sliced blades of grass. "Lower your bickering voices. If the mad one finds out about this, I'll run you both over."

A returned to his worried state, partially for the welfare of B, partially for fear that he wasn't joking.

"_He's_ the mad one? You're the one hijacking a tractor at three in the morning!" He half whispered, half squealed.

"For your information, _A_, it's Two Fifty-two. Now shut up and help me open the gate!" C, overjoyed at the prospect of being, with lack of better word in this situation, _bad_, bounded into the darkness in front of the rusted vehicle, his silver piercings catching the light of the moon as he moved.

Anxiously, the strawberry-blond peered up at the raven-haired-boy, who was doing his best to refrain from screwing waiting for his companions and breaking the gate down in sheer adrenaline.

"I really don't like this, B." He uttered, doing all he could to surface some sanity and sense from the other.

"In case you have not noticed, I do not care. Because I am in a tractor. Therefore, I am superior." He was grinning, wildly, like an animal going in for the kill.

"You've officially lost it. Gone. We must wrap you in a nice, snugly straight-jacket and take you away at once."

"First you must remove me from this tractor."

"You're never getting out of there, are you?"

"This is my home now." As he spoke, he was caressing the steering wheel, rubbing his cheek against the worn leather cover.

"I'll bring jam to your funeral. It will be sticky, but beautiful." Convinced that this would be the last time he saw his friend, A gave up on convincing B he was, in fact, retarded, and joined C at the gate. The latter was literally bouncing and clapping his hands together.

The wood was rotting and covered in a damp moss from a recent storm, but it budged more-or-less without being removed from its hinged. Or, rather, the trio claimed "It was falling apart when we found it like that". It was a perfectly believable statement, in C and B's opinion. They were obviously very honest and trustworthy human beings.

The gate creaked aside, the noise seeming to scold the delinquents for more stupidity than theft, and a bright pink light snapped into view as a glow stick was waved in the direction of the tractor, indicating for the idiotic entertainment that would be the night was to begin. The tractor gurgled into life as a response, slowly pushing forward from its stationary position and into movement, chugging and clanging with age at the sudden request to go at, as was then described by the driver, "Full speed ahead!", which made out at roughly five, maybe six hours an hour.

A golden glow flicked on from the farmer's bedroom, unsurprisingly considering the noise of the _"Putputputput"_ from the engine, but the tractor's new found driver slash living resident was too overjoyed to care if he was chased by a sleepy, but worryingly angry, farmer. It would probably take him a few minutes to get his shoes on anyway, and by that point B intended on being feeling the wind in his hair. Despite moving at five miles an hour.

The old machine groaned on.

The two gate-keepers walked beside the metal heap of rusted crap.

"You're going pretty fast, B. Slow down, before you break the sound barrier." C stuck his tongue out, the sky too dark to show off his studded tongue with the moon hidden behind the trees.

"Speed was not my intention. In such a beast, I shall be _untouchable_."

A continued to throw concerned looks behind him. "What if he has a gun? Oh, God, I bet he has a gun. I knew you would be the death of me. _A plague on both your houses!_"

"He won't have a gun. Your demise was inevitable the moment you decided to befriend him. We live in the same house. And, most importantly, stop with the bull, it's bad enough having the rest of the household 'thou-ing' and 'thee-ing' after that God-awful performance." Flicking a fringe out of his eyes, C strode on with his chin held high. He, however, had greatly enjoyed the sight of men in tights, but mostly due to their self-inflicting agony from embarrassment.

"We agreed never to talk of the play again. _Ever._"

"But—"

"_Ever_."

"…You have to admit, Matt made a wonderful Juli—"

"_I will run you down."_

The pair were silenced immediately.

Casually hopping into the (hardly) moving tractor, the teenagers made themselves content by watching the farmer trying to chase them up the road in nothing but slippers and a dressing gown from the back window; the rebellion amused by the innocent man's pain, and the teacher's pet relaxed that he, indeed, had no weapon other than a foul mouth and an eye-burning sight once his gown had blown open.

"You're missing a show and a half!... Well, maybe just slightly-less-than-a-show, but not on the amusement scale! Unless you're his wife. Which obviously you aren't. Because he isn't L, and since you're so desperate f—" A sharp smack to the face shut the 15-year-old up pretty quickly.

The pair of blazing, furious red eyes sent shivers down the passenger's spine. He held his tongue, waiting for B to lose it and throw him out of the door. He kept his eyes fixated on his "friend", fully prepared to attack if he spoke shit like that again.

"It's not like that at all. I detest him to the very core." Each word was spat with hatred, and yet...

_'Yet you make it sound so forced.' _Rubbing his face, keeping his thoughts to himself seemed sensible for the twinging nerves in C's cheek.

"…Back-up…"

The raven span his head around so quickly it clicked a little.

"Now you're starting, too?"

"No… No, I mean _back-up_." A clenched B's shoulder with both hands in a desperate grasp.

"What?"

"Brakes!"

Suddenly understanding what A was pleading, BB slammed his foot onto the metal foot-pad as the unexpected ditch grew closer in sight.

"Why aren't we stopping?"

"The brakes aren't working!"

"I knew we were going to die!"

"Brake harder! Brake harder!" C slammed his foot on top of B's, followed by A's, together making a foot dog-pile.

A slammed his foot especially hard, calling a repetitive chorus of "Brake!"

"_Something's _going to_."_

The tractor edged closer to the pit in the ground. Knuckles turning white from clinging to the side of the doorway, the blond teenager felt himself give in to panic and the rush of the moment. _'Screw dying with loved ones!' _He threw himself out of the side door, rolling onto the soggy grass before the road.

'C, you son of a bitch, get ba—' A slam to the chest cut A short as he was thrown out of the tractor by the driver, rolling on impact into a wet, gravelly puddle.

'_Thank God for not wearing seatbelts.'_

And then there was only B.

In "his" tractor.

Driving towards a ditch.

With no hope of leaping out in time.

"Bugger." He muttered, under his breath, as the ditch swallows up the front tires, sending the entire load of old, rusty, potential death-trap onto its front, moaning and groaning as it impacted with the ground, the wheels still turning a few last times before giving out and returning stationary.

Eyes bulging out of his skull, B held his breath as the motor stayed upright on its front, waiting for the cracked glass to break onto him, or the engine to fume and set alight, or vermin to run in from the death and gnaw him to _death_.

The rats held off for a few moments of quiet.

"...Oh, well, that went better than ex-"

_Creeeeakk..._

Thankfully for the rats, if there even were any, they did not decide to jump in and gnaw the 15-year-old to death, because they promptly would have been crushed by the inevitable crash of the motor losing its balance and falling forward, sending the driver, much to his dismay, into an uncomfortable upside down position from inside.

**Fine. I lied in the previous chapter. Nothing could stop me from writing a fiction about Beyond's Whimsical Tractor Experience(s).**

**Reviews convince me to update. But only if you have time to spare. Thank you~**


	5. A Farmer's Displeasure Part 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.  
><strong>  
>"Roger! Roger!"<br>Roger, who had been peacefully tucked into his bed for exactly seventeen minutes after being rudely awoken by Mello setting alight to the kitchen after trying to roast a box of Lego and spending the next hour lecturing him about the dangers of cooking plastic toys with Matt's lighter and a bucket of gasoline from his (Roger's, not Mello's, thank the Lord,) car, should have been used to it, really. Was sleep even really that important? He only needed it to live. Maybe he could just go without it for a few days until he passed out over a series of unfortunately placed knives in the kitchen on the one day he jut happened to be helping Maria (one of many chefs of the orphanage,) cook dinner, and let Quilish deal with cleaning it up. Yes, maybe he could just…  
>Two young fists banged on the old man's door with all the strength they could muster, making the noise echo around the Victorian-styled bedroom.<br>Groaning, Roger forced his tired (but awake enough to give the interrupter a beating or two,) bones out of his bed and yanked the door open.  
>A's wide, petrified eyes helped to soften his rage for just a little while. <em>'A? Isn't he usually the one hiding under his bed covers when something happens?'<em>  
>Roger wiped a wrinkled hand down his face. "What's the matter?" he yawned, not bothering to completely suppress his displeasure at the situation.<br>The young boy gulped, heavily, as if preparing to hold back tears. _'Oh for God's sake…'_ He mentally moaned, trying not to roll his eyes, and to act "caring".  
>"B is d-dead! He's dead!" A wailed, somehow managing to cry without water leaking from his face.<br>"...He's dead?" Typical for B to die when people are trying to sleep. How selfish of the little rat!  
>A nodded so quickly his hair frizzed. "He was… and then we… Now… Dead!" A squealed out the last part, repeating it over and over and burying his eyes into his palms.<br>"…" That was a helpful description of what happened, yes…  
>A set of foot-steps casually made their way over, accompanied by a cheery face, apparently being indifferent to the lateness of the hour. Smiling, Whammy placed a hand on the boy's shoulder to soothe him. He choked a sob in response, which was naturally assumed as a "Thank you, I appreciate it. You truly are a caring and wonderful human being, Whammy. Much more so than Roger, who is a useless old fag." by the sleep-longing, wished-he-was-a-sloth-man.<p>

"What happened?"

"We... Me, B, and C-"

"It's 'B, C and I'."

"_Roger_. Please continue." Quilish gave a quick glare of daggers before continuing to give his best comforting smile.

"...B, C and I went to the farmyard and.. You know the one, up the road about a mile and a half? With the old angry guy..." A looked up nervously at the grumpier adult. "...And... B said it was be really funny if.. if... we, uh... Ha..."

"If?" In chorus.

"If we, uhmm... Stole his tractor and... You know... ran over stuff in it..." A eyed up the floorboards carefully, his cheeks a bright shade of red.

"You _what_?"

"And what happened when you got there?" Whammy seemed immune to such behaviour (idiocy) after years of living in the house of "attention starved rebellious teenage geniuses", as was put by multiple members of staff. It wasn't an untrue statement, in all honesty.

"We got chased by an old naked farmer halfway up the road."

"Right. And?"

"And his lost a slipper."

"Yes?"

"It fell in a puddle."

"Okay?"

"And he couldn't chase us very well after that."

"...Yes, A, I'm sure. But what happened to B?"

"He slapped C, because he mentioned how B wanted-" A clasped his hands over his mouth like a child, as if he was appalled he could say such a thing. The older gentlemen sighed, one much more heavily than the other.

"A..." Roger resisted the urge to kneel down like he was speaking to a 5-year-old.

"If you don't hurry up and tell us what happened so I can go back to bed, B won't be the only one cold in the morning. Okay?" His sickeningly sweet smile made A turn white, while the sentence brought tears to his eyes.

"H-He drove into a d-ditch, and when we went to make sure he was okay he didn't say anything, and now we can't get him out! And he wouldn't listen to me, and I told C to fuck himself, and... And... He's dead in a ditch!"

"..."

"..."

_Hiccup._

The wind howled from outside, whipping autumn leaves off the trees and whirling into the night's (early morning?) sky.

"...I'll get our coats..." Roger muttered, stumbling away down the hall. The others nodded and hurried in the same direction, Whammy's warm hand still placed on A's quivering shoulder due to a mixture of sorrow, fear, and the cold. Despite the drama of it, the group were starting to get used to things like this happening, actually. Two thirds had given up on being surprised when B suddenly went and "died", only to come back with "sensible" excuses of why he should _not_ be punished, and how it was utterly _not_ his fault. Such excuses had yet to succeed.

His heart in his mouth, A restrained himself from throwing himself at a familiar figure at the doorway, before sickening disappointment hit, realising it wasn't his best friend at all. His eyes fell to his shoes, chest aching from the sudden hope that B had managed to crawl home unscathed just to laugh at them all for worrying.

"L." He mumbled, hoping the nuisance would take the tone of eagerness to access the doorway in his voice and move out of the way so they could begin the rescue mission.

Nuisance in question gave a blank "A." in response. The relationship between detective and the successor had always been a bitter one, so the lack of greeting was only to be expected.

"Erm, look..." A started. How do you tell your supposed "idol" that you accidentally let his possible maybe perhaps lover drive himself into a ditch in a tractor? To his death?

Not that L and B were lovers, of course.

Definitely not.

That's what B had assured him multiple times, anyway. B wouldn't lie to a friend...

The teenager suddenly was aware of the detective putting on his jacket.

"I left Matt in charge of Mello."

Whammy's mouth twitched.

"Sensible choice."

"You would assume so." Scenes of a far worse massacre flashed before four sets of eyes.

"L, I don't think-" _B would like it if you came._

The elder boy opened the wide double-doors, wind pouring into his face and the hall, sending shivers up his spine.

"In case you have yet to notice, I am rather selfish. I'm not joining you for concern for B, nor for doubt that Roger and Whammy could take care of things themselves." He turned his head to face them, smiling in a cruel and dark manner that could match only BB's. "I just long to see his embarrassment. Nothing more."

Without another word, slipping into the black abyss of the cold air outside, L was gone, leaving a bewildered A at the front door.

Apparently B's dark humour was infectious.

**Reviews are love, even if it's just a "Cool Story, Bro'." I'm really dying to hear what you have to say! :)**


	6. A Farmer's Displeasure Part 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. Nor a tractor. Pfft.**

It was kind of funny, in a way.

Well, not really funny, but... Interesting.

Curious.

How two people, so alike in appearance, could be both so similar...

And yet not the same in any way.

_'Seriously...'_

L was careful and patient. He thought everything out to the very end, and never made a false move.

'_It's like they're the same person...'_

B was also careful and patient, but excitable. He had a habit of becoming cocky. He got so far, but would often slip up at the last moment.

_'But one wants to be different...'_

A stumbled on the grass, but quickly regained his balance.

_'One wants to make a mistake..?'_

He couldn't see L's pale features through the darkness. Storm clouds were blocking the sunrise, making the night seem cold and eternal. But still, he was walking on ahead, knowing where he was going even though through the blackness of the clouded morning sky. He was practically gliding over mud and earth, but calling him "graceful" would be an incorrect statement. His grace could match that of a newborn giraffe. With three legs.

Increasing his pace to match the lame-baby-giraffe-detective's, A trotted beside him.

"Hey..."

"Calmed down a little, now?" But it sounded more mentally exhausted than caring.

"Y-Yeah... He's done more stupid things before, I guess..." Yet the strawberry-blond was unable to smile at the memories of B's previous idiocies. L nodded in response, but he, too, was unamused.

There was quiet, after that. Apart from the obvious sounds of puddles splashing beneath the team's feet, or the occasional cursing from Roger after he hit his foot on something hard or tripped over. It was uncomfortable. Being around the insomniac had always been a chore for A, despite his best efforts to train to become him...

No, that wasn't the right phrase. He didn't want to be L, he just...

Didn't want to be _L_...

_'Don't I?'_

The sloppy behaviour, the tired eyes, the indifference to other people's feelings... What was it really for? He had always assumed that L, as a human being, just wasn't cut out to be so dedicated to his work. That he was so weak that he had to become this creature, blocking out the real world just to survive in it.

A had always assumed if he became L, he would be stronger than that. That he could remain human and be the greatest detective, unlike this panda-eyed _thing_ stumbling beside him.

_If_ he became L? Didn't it used to be _when_?

But another thought interrupted.

Indifference.

L was indifferent to the feelings of others', yes.

All others?

Everybody?

Even B?

Did L even care that somebody worshipped him enough to throw away his very body- his real self, just to imitate his every aspect?

Did he know?

_'Do you even see the way he looks at you? Or are you that blind?... No, you have to see. It's your job- Your existence is dedicated to seeing everything there is and could be...'_

Or maybe he chose to ignore it. To sweep it under the carpet. To act ignorant because it was easier? To lie that he didn't care to stop the complications that telling the truth would bring?

A wouldn't allow that. L wasn't allowed to be a coward. He wasn't allowed to hide.

He wasn't allowed to be a liar forever.

"L."

"Yes?"

"I have to ask you something."

"Which is?" The detective turned only to see how far back the elder men had fallen before carrying on the trek.

They were still moving. The wind was still blowing. Somewhere, birds were chirping or beating their wings and flying away.

But they didn't hear any of that.

For a few seconds, the world was lost, and it was only them, alone in the pure, silent, nothing. No sound, no sight. No old men frantically trying to catch up with them. No injured friend lying cold in the rubble of what used to be a motor. Just them.

"Has there ever been one point in your life where you've told the truth?"

Droplets of rain slid from the trees.

_Plip._

_Plip._

_Plip..._

L slowed to a stop, staying still for a few moments before turning to his successor.

Successor.

_'To succeed you...'_

L stayed silent long enough for A to question if he had even heard him. The expression on his face was, as always, unreadable.

"A."

"...Have you?"

"Where do we go?"

...What?

"..Excuse me?"

Tilting his head to the left and then rolling it to the right, indicating with his eyes.

"Where is he?"

"...Oh.. Oh! This way!" A sprinted past him, the reason for being out in the cold coming back and hitting like a bag of bricks. The question could wait. This was more important. A could hold out for an answer for a little while longer. B would have no choice but to do the same.

* * *

><p>Shuffling into the room, too tired to properly force his legs to move correctly after doses of God-knows-how-many pain killers had been forced down, possibly in an attempt of minor overdose by a certain grumpy old shit, B had decided to work on renewing his dignity and restore his lost respect the following day when his head wasn't so stuffed with cotton, glass, and general mockery. It was this decision that made falling to his knees and lying next to the insomniac detective that much more easy. Before, he would have to come up with excuses, making sure his reasons of why he couldn't "sleep" (lie awake and do whatever it took to amuse himself) in his own bed were fully followed through as to be sure not to seem like he had <em>wanted <em>to come in and curl up next to him. Which was pathetic. They were only a placebo excuses, yes, but it was better than confessing to anything that didn't need to be said out loud.

The room would have been otherwise only lit by the sun rising on the horizon had L decided to turn off his laptop. Sitting in the dark on the floor with only the laptop's bright, electronic glow seemed a favourite spot for him; even if the room wasn't completely bare as he preferred, apparently requiring an actual bed for it to be considered a "bedroom".

"Mello and Matt claimed my room.," B explained to the floor, just in case the walls started asking him why he was here or something, since it didn't seem impossible in his current state. "and I can't be bothered to make them move."

L shifted his head to the side, resting on his shoulder, looking down at the mess of plasters and bandages that had heaped next to him. "So, they're asleep, but you don't want to disturb them."

"Didn't say that."

Smiling, a pair of cold fingers entangled in the boys hair, lightly and delicately as to not hurt him further. He opted for not confronting him any further, letting the boy rest at his side in peace. Even if the boy's sleep was artificial due to drugs and pain, it was an excuse for a moment of... What, weakness? No, just an excuse to lower his guard, if only slightly.

_'Sometimes,' _L thought to himself as his single hand raced across the keys of the laptop, the other tracing circles on BB's skull, _'It is more comfortable to have something fake and pretend than it is to have reality and nothing. With pretend, it is more acceptable to believe every person is acting; with reality, the actors are deemed "liars".'_

But that's how this life was, wasn't it?

Whatever L thought of B, and whatever B believed L thought, he would still have to remain an actor.

Rather, he would still remain a liar.

**Reviews are so appreciated, please, if you have time! If that's okay to ask for... c:**


	7. Beast

**I meant to mention it sooner, but I'm sorry for forgetting. Since there is no official birth date for him, I've made my version of BB two years younger than L, born on December 12 1981. I will also be following the manga dates, not the anime ones, since they're much easier to get a hold of.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**

The flames roared up to the sky, embers spitting and crackling as they ate away at the pile of wood and debris, burning it up into piles of ash. The red-hot warmth was more than welcomed to help endure the bitter late-autumn air, that ached bones even protected with thick winter coats and cotton gloves. Children, gathered around in groups of friends to share the moment, either whispered or stayed silent in awe, as if speaking aloud would upset the great, hot beast and frighten it away. The evening was one many had been looking forward to for some time; they had no intention of spoiling it with loudness and words.

From the back of the crowd, curled up on a picnic blanket, an uneasy B shifted; moving his arms over his knees, then around them, then back over, then dropping them at his sides, before back around again. Seated next to him, his supposed "mentor" kept his eyes fixated on the flames, unblinking. The light reflected in his almost glassy eyes, making them look unnatural in his skull.

"You're quite uncomfortable this evening." He observed, eyes still entranced with the bonfire.

B shrugged his shoulders in response. He shifted his gaze over to the detective, shyly; however, this was a mistake, as his eyes flickered _up_ without his command. '_Ugh.'_

"Do you find tonight's event uninteresting?" L continued, his voice sounding as distant as his eyes looked.

"It's fine." Finding an excuse seemed too much effort. _'Let him think what he wants.'_

The detective's face moved to face him, eyes staying locked with the blazing for a few moments before blinking away from the scene that had grasped his attention so intensely.

"Awkward shifting. Unable to meet my gaze. Lack of complete sentences. General mood of misery and self-pity... Surely, B, you aren't suffering from _guilt_?" the raven promptly received a smack to the back of his head in response to his pretend _"Horror!"_ expression. With his scarf twined around above his nose, it was basically just his regular expression with slightly wider eyes, if that were possible. It looked especially owlish under the stars.

B turned back to staring ahead at the fire, though his expression implied he was looking more _through_ it. "It's just too cold." He mumbled, huddling his face into his knees.

Carefully, his face was lifted by an almost frozen set of fingers, chin finding it's way into the palm of the pale hand. As if hesitantly, it pulled away to be replaced by the soft fibres of a warm scarf, now wrapping around and mimicking the position it held on the previous wearer's face. It smelt to disgustingly like L that it was sickening, causing something inside B to ache at the new scent.

The older raven rose to his feet. "I'm going back, anyway. Enough time has been wasted here to prove the theory of my agoraphobia untrue." He stretched out before recoiling back into the standard hunch and spinning on his heels, heading back towards the orphanage.

Although wrong to say it surprised him, he was unsure of what to think as his successor quickly followed behind him like a dog would its master (although said dog would insist it to be the other way around). Letting him follow in silence until they were out of sight from the younger and more fascinated children, L dropped the hushed tone and resumed a normal volume. "You don't wish to stay with A or C?"

Though the question had obviously been "_Why_ don't you wish to stay with them?", or rather "You don't want to leave me in peace?", the successor decided to humour his mentor, making confessing his desire to be alone dragged out and awkward. B shook his head in response, "I think they actually enjoy this."

The older of the pair couldn't help feeling the edges of his lips twitch upwards. "So you do consider others? This comes as a surprise to me." A sharp kick to the back of the heel hushed him immediately. Apparently abuse was the most effective form of punishment.

"I've just had enough."

"Ah, when it comes to burning the science lab, you can go on for hours. But a safe, contained fire must be dull for you."

B gripped the insides of his pockets just for something to hold on to. His hands felt too big, like they should be carrying something just to have something to amuse his fingers with. L always stuck his thumb in his mouth, but the action always felt strange to the boy, like it wasn't his own thumb he held in his mouth, but someone else's.

Someone else like the man he was following.

Heh.

Grabbing the scarf and yanking it down off his face, he proceeded to gnaw on his lower lip, pulling at the skin, prying it off it slow chews. Scraping off a layer, he felt himself counting down how many were left containing the iron-tasting substance hidden inside his body. He bit down, hard, the points of his teeth pressed into the pink with full force. People had always thought it a strange habit to have, and in his younger years he had been accused of being a "Stupid Emo" for his abnormal enjoyment of the coppery-taste, but that didn't matter. Other people were just _weird_.

B continued to chew until he felt a warm trickle roll down his chin, almost missing it due to the coldness of his face. He lapped at it with his tongue, licking the droplets up like a kitten would milk.

"B?" A small voice asked from ahead, quiet enough for him to assume it had only been his imagination or the wind.

"BB." The called again, only slightly louder this time. Slightly confused at who was with them, he couldn't help but be startled that such a shy voice had come from _L_.

"Yes?" He kept his regular volume, not understanding why there was a sudden need to be quiet.

The detective had lowered his head, eyeing the floor just before each step he took.

"I'm probably going to be busy. If you wanted to talk to someone, you should go back."

If that was all he had to say, why the hushed tone?

"No, like I said. I've really had enough."

"I don't want you hanging around, bored, and otherwise alone when there's nobody to watch you."

B huffed, loudly. "I'm sixteen in just over a month. I'm not a child. Legally, I could leave this place. For good. _Then_ what would you do?"

L pulled his hand from his pocket, despite the cold, and proceeded to place it to his lip in his standard way. "But you won't." He replied, blankly.

"I could."

"But you won't."

"Yes, but hypothetically, I _could_."

"But you won't."

The 15-year-old growled, annoyed. Jerk. Why should he be so damn confident that he wouldn't get away if he had a place to go? Hell, as soon as C got out of here- because C couldn't, as he stated "Give two flying fucks about being the world's greatest arrogant prick.", they could get an apartment together. Steal if they had to. They were both equally good at it, so working together would make a life of crime child's-play.

...Because C _would_ get out of this place. It didn't matter what the numbers said. It didn't matter when his expiry date was supposed to be. _C would live_.

...Anyway, that wasn't the point...

B's red eyes slowly found their way back up, above L's head.

_'A life of crime? That would be ironic...' _He distracted himself by thinking of anything, any words, that entered his head.

_'The chance of us getting caught is so parenthetically low..."_

Fumbling around in his pocket, the boy walking ahead made a satisfied "Ah." on finding the object of his desire: a single old, rusted key entrusted to him by the owner of the orphanage, knowing he wouldn't want to stay outside and away from precious work for long. Flicking it in his fingers, he casually asked his companion as they reached closer to the mansion-sized building, "Cake?" his voice now returning to normal, making the sudden quietness all the more strange.

Bewildered, B blinked in response. When had he last genuinely offered his sweets?...Though that particular date wasn't one to be soon forgotten.

"I'm not crying right now, you understand?" Half -joking, half-serious.

L cocked his head, confused. "...I'm aware?"

"I was under the impression you didn't offer cake to those not in hysteria."

Reaching the destination of the oak double-doors, the key clicked into the lock and was pulled open, the house greeting the boys with it's warmth and light, pouring out into the darkness of the porch. Despite many denials of having a home, just about all residents agreed it was, indeed, as homey a place as could be.

Coats off and hung on the rack, the 18-year-old turned to retrieve his charcoal scarf before stopping in his tracks, a regular masked facial expression not betraying him in showing his mild concern for the bloodied face standing before him.

"You bit your lip again."

Blowing air out through his teeth, BB shifted his weight to lean against the wall in preparation for any complaints that would come his way, possibly followed by a lecture depending on how the situation turned. "I do that." He shrugged, indifferent to the many complaints his habit received. Just to defy him, the boy bit once again on the already wounded area, causing a fresh drop of blood to surface.

"At least use your thumb to stop it spilling everywhere..." Reaching an open hand out, he moved to wipe the droplet of blood away before it rolled down onto the floor; however, the act was instantly mistaken to be an offering. An offering which was taken, as the thumb was suddenly found inside the warm, wetness of a mouth, teeth sharply biting into the flesh just below the nail.

"..."

Wincing ever-so-slightly as the skin broke from behind the pair of damaged lips, L found himself frozen, unable to pull away despite all his logic screaming at him from inside his head to do so. Somehow, he felt captivated. It was like being faced with a wild animal. The feeling of knowing you had to escape, but being too _fascinated_ to pull away. Or maybe "animal" wasn't the correct word. Perhaps "monster"? Beast?

The air caught at the back of his throat and stayed there as the wet muscle of tongue licked at the bleeding.

Beast. That was the best word for it. A hot-beast, living off the pieces of that which it was created, destroying it further and further with each passing moment it existed. Devouring and destroying in order to grow and spread. Not caring what was hurt or broken in its rampage, a beast that knew only to feed its desire, and of nothing else.

The need for oxygen rose with each passing second, but the room felt stiff and airless. Suffocatingly so. But, even if his face turned blue, he couldn't help it. Gazing into the blazing red, feeling the warmth pressed upon him, L was unable to be anything else but entranced.

And he was afraid of the beast, in that moment.

Maybe more-so than he would ever be.

Because he was powerless.

He was unable to retreat.

And, God help him, he felt the wanting to be engulfed by the flames more strongly than ever.

**I had meant for it to be one, but it ended up getting too long, so I had to split this chapter into two, the second part being the following chapter. Sorry.**

**Also, please forgive how cheesy this chapter is. I had no intention of making L sound like a romantic. He's just drawn to danger. Drawn to danger and horny, when it comes to Beyond. ^^'**


	8. Logical

**Second part to the previous chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**

Throughout all of his life, L considered himself to be logical.

In fact, he considered himself to be one of the most logical creatures the world could ever have the (mis)fortune of knowing. He wasn't one for mistakes, instead catching the best solution to any problem both swiftly and easily.

Which was exactly why it made his stupidity even more frustrating.

Though very familiar with the saying "What's done is done.", this wasn't an occurrence he would be allowing himself to brush off until after a little mental scolding.

Maybe a lot of mental scolding.

Physical scolding? Perhaps he would ban himself from ice cream for the next twenty-four hours.

...No, that was just ridiculous.

Running fingers through his already messed hair and pushing it aside in all directions, he sighed. Truth was, he didn't know how to deal with something like this. How do most people handle it? Not just the awkward laying in bed with the boy you just fucked but aren't in a relationship with, but the awkward laying in bed with your _successor_ you just fucked who you can _never_ be in a relationship with.

Who was also under-age by a month.

Brilliant.

Creaking the bed as he moved, 15-year-old in question shifted, lazily, and rolled over from his position at lying and admiring the wall, eyes now tiredly blinking up at the detective. Not saying a word, his hopeful expression silently pushed on, requesting the other to speak.

...But he had absolutely no idea of what to say. What was he even hoping for? Was the facial expression one to encourage loving words? Surely B wasn't that dumb as to assume sex would change the way he was treated. If it were, it was most likely to induce avoidance, or create a rift between them. Those were the only _sensible_ options.

The pair of crimson orbs pressed on; the moonlight's reflection making them seem glassy as a doll's. Maybe it was the stare boring into him, or the fact he'd achieved bumping his head three times in the evening in spurts of roughness that hadn't been fully suppressed _('Poor brain cells.')_, or just the fact his brain had completely given up on making sense for the night; but L couldn't stop himself blurting out, without any control over his mouth or vocal chords: "We were supposed to be having cake." despite having absolutely no idea why he was even thinking about that at such a time.

"..."

Much to the surprise of the other, B's mouth quivered momentarily; curving upwards into a smirk, before releasing a series of genuine, amused laughs. No annoyance, no insanity. Just... pure amusement. He sat upright, bending over his knees, properly laughing in the way _happy_ people are supposed to.

"..Cake.." He breathed out, smiling down at the sheets draped over his knees. "We have sex and you complain it isn't cake."

"I wasn't compla-" _'Stop. Stop talking now.'_

"Only you, Lawliet. Only _you_..." Wrapping his arms around his raised knees, B pressed his face into the white sheets, darkened to a blue in the darkness of the night, the room only lit by the dull glow of the moon from through the window. Draped around his pale frame, it was the last thing separating his naked form from that of his love's. Making the choice of whether to be thankful for it or resist keeping it on the bed at all proved to be more complicated than originally imagined. Despite denial of the lack of feelings of hatred burning inside him, crouching there gave B a feeling of pain. A feeling of hurt. Like a piece of swallowed glass was moving, slicing him up from the inside, but aching at the same time. Although not a new sensation, it was profounder while lying there, just inches away from being a pile of entangled limbs, entwining fingers, mixed breaths. Shared touches. Shared feelings.

Maybe that was one of the reasons it was so awkward. Because it was _possible_. Psychically, yes, they could lay in each other's embrace. Yes, they could continue to explore each other's mouths until their jaws ached too much to move. And then, that would be an okay excuse to admire the set of eyes they faced instead of talking; but the feeling of desperation would hurt more than the pain of over-used muscle, and they would both blurt out confessions of love, anyway. And they could smile at the smiles due to smiling, and it wouldn't have to be logical any more because none of that even _mattered_. Even if it seemed stupid for an emotionless robot to put _feelings_ before the lives of thousands of others, innocent or tainted, they could make it work. _They_ could work. Not just at love, but in _partnership_. L would stop B from putting his emotions first, while B would stop L's complete apathy over-ruling him.

It was the logical thing to do.

But...

For one of the first times he could ever remember, logic failed L that night.

For once, he refused to acknowledge what could happen if he didn't pull himself from the sheets, or turned on the lights. He wouldn't think about what would happen if he didn't promise words of indifference to the room, because the room would take them so much more easily than the person they were intended for. But, for the sake of Beyond Birthday's sanity (and it would be wrong to say he wouldn't lie about something like this), I really hope he didn't instantly pull away from the boy's grasp like he assured me he did.

I really hope when the boy asked, pools of red flickering between his face and name "Do you really not want to hold on to a false satisfaction for a little while longer?", L considered his choice, even a little, before replying "There's nothing to hold on to any more." If not, then I must feel some pity for Beyond for having to hear "Just let go." and to know the true meaning behind the words.

Of course, I don't blame L for what happened all those years later. How could I? In his defence, he had never meant to be so harsh. He hadn't meant to hurt anyone more than the hurt he assumed would occur being distracted by something as trivial as "love" while maintaining his title of World's Greatest Detective.

It wasn't his fault. He hadn't intended on all those people dying because of his choice.

He just wanted to do the logical thing.

**Yay, mystery POV. Though you can probably guess who it belongs to.**

**Thank you very much for reading~**

**Feel free to slam your fist on the keyboard instead of writing a proper review if you want to. Anything you have to say makes my day.**


	9. A Creature Of Sin

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**

After his father received a charming smile, by the time the teenager's head flicked back to the detective, his face resumed a standard tired and slightly cold expression. "See you tomorrow, Ryuzaki." He called, receiving a not-quite genuine "Thank you for your work". Even if he did murder thousands, there was no reason to be impolite. Nodding in response, the last of the task force members made their way out of the hotel room before the door finally closed with a gentle _'click'_, leaving L alone with the gentle glow emitting from his laptop.

He stretched out his bony fingers, listening to the sound of them clicking with each movement. Tiring, tiring. Humans were such a nuisance to be around. Or maybe it was just the stupid ones. Ironically, the very person he intended on executing was one of the only ones he actually enjoyed being with, for lack of better words. Such a shame that the interesting ones were always insane.

"Quite pretty for a serial killer." Aw. Too soon. The few moments of being alone had been relaxing. "If you think so." The detective muttered to the figure splayed out on the sofa, who was dully observing a bowl of sugar cubes with bland disinterest.

Picking one up to examine, his gaze momentarily flickered to the raven through the corner of his eye. "Do you?"

"I don't, and I'm not having this argument with you." He half-spat, bitterly.

Dropping the cube back into the bowl with just enough height to not crack it, he huffed in response. _'That's no fun at all.' _The intruder fell onto his back and placed his arms behind his skull. Having so little to do was excessively boring. Going out would be nice, but L had no intention of going anywhere any time soon, which meant he couldn't go anywhere any time soon, either. Boring.

L, unsatisfied at the intruder's arrival, opted for ignoring him until he, hopefully, went away again. That, or he could drown out the intruder's existence by engrossing himself in case-work. Working with his interruptions would prove to be an inconvenient task, causing the detective to silently pray for the former. Much to his dismay, however, the intruder was in no mood for leaving him in peace, instead attempting to make himself comfortable, and apparently not succeeding by the constant twisted of limbs and rolling from side to side.

After a few minutes, he remained motionless. Even the rise and fall of his chest seemed stilled, though L had to wonder if it had stopped a long time ago. Laying on his side, he pressed his face into the back of the couch, arms clutching a pillow to his upper body. Despite receiving his wish of being in peace, L found himself once again anything but satisfied with the situation. Yes, the nuisance had stopped talking, but now he was _there_. Which meant he had an actual reason for hanging around, probably. Which meant L would presumably have to start talking, and then he wouldn't get a straight answer unless he focused all his attention on the intruder and not on the case, which wasn't something he'd ever been particularly good at anyway.

Inwardly sighing, L turned around and peered his head over the back of his armchair. "Back-up?" He cooed, trying to find part of him that enjoyed teasing the boy and encouraging it to surface.

B clenched his teeth. "_What?_" he bit, more than a little distressed.

"You're here again."

"_Really_, L?"

The detective half-chuckled. "Are you mad at me now?"

"Yes. We aren't friends any more." Closing his eyes, the raven-haired-boy looked up and stuck his tongue out to the detective, before dropping his head back into his cushions.

Tilting his head in response, L genuinely didn't know if he was amused or upset any more. "Then why are you still here?" He asked, eyes beginning to fall away from the laying figure.

He rolled his eyes, tiredly, as if explaining was the most exhausting thing he could say. "I'm not a ghost, you know. I don't just pop up whenever I feel like it. Quite frankly, I'd rather leave any unfinished business alone than have to spend more time in this pathetic attempt of what you call a life." Lifting his head, he eyed the man across him out of the corners of his crimson eyes, somewhat curious of his reaction.

For once, he was uneasy. His thumb lifted to the soft pink of his lip, met by the points of his teeth in an anxious bite. Mouth still full of thumb, he mumbled out a small "Shinigami?"

"No, but it was nice to know you were thinking of me." Suddenly holding an eerily smile, B shot upright and waves his arms into the air, flailing, and mimed screaming out before giving burst of short, chilling laughs.

Ignoring the mocking, L was too fascinated to be annoyed with the boy's usual insults.

"Then?"

The amusement slowly left the pair of red eyes, his smile slipping away. "I shouldn't have to be the one to tell you you're losing your mind, should I? Though, I suppose I should return the favour." He pulled himself into the fetal position, hands placed upon his knees, carefully. "I'm just the last of your sanity slipping away, Lawliet. Even if my physical form has rotten away, the Beyond Birthday that existed in L Lawliet's mind still lingers. Until the Beyond that lives in Lawliet's mind is forgotten, I still can't receive death."

"..."

The room fell silent. For once, the detective was aware of the hum of his laptop. He'd grown used to its sound, becoming more familiar than a second heartbeat. Hesitating, the pair of onyx orbs slowly made their way up from the floor, meeting up with the red eyes stationed across the room. Though unable to speak for several minutes, in truth and reality, he knew exactly what he wanted to say to his successor. Rather, it wasn't a new development. The time span of when he first should have said the words to the time it took to say them was more than days or weeks, but _years_. In fact, it wouldn't have been a negative thing to have said it on the first day of their meeting. And, although he wasn't even hearing it, maybe this would be the best thing he could ever hope to. Though knowing that, yes, B was dead at the hands of the very killer L strived to catch, _the same man who's company he actually enjoyed_, his mind's broken memory would be the closest thing he would ever come to admitting what he should have said so much time ago.

"I'm sorry."

And yet, he felt glad the real Beyond Birthday had never heard it. He was satisfied that only his own mind, that already knew it well enough, had heard his apology. Because L truly believed he should never have said the word to the real B.

Saying the word "Sorry" would imply he wanted forgiveness.

His burdens were ones he wanted to carry for the rest of his remaining life.

Even if the weight on his shoulders broke him down, then that was fine. Even if the bitterness in his mouth was worse than poison, that was okay. Even should he be given a second chance to tell his successors, not just figments of imagination but real human forms, how much it had destroyed him to know that he caused them pain, he wouldn't have said a word.

He truly believed he was a sinful creature.

And he believed he was not one who deserved to be forgiven.

**I'd just like to add this isn't the first time L sees his imaginary B, and it certainly isn't the last time. It's just the first time they've properly spoken.**

**Reviews are adored, but there's no pressure for them. Thank you for reading~**


	10. Sleeping Beauty

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**

Much to his dismay, Beyond Birthday had set his expectations too high.

How utterly boring.

He had hoped for a much more intense and overly-dramatic show. Arms punching, legs kicking, bodies struggling to get away... The whole works, you know? But, as I stated, he was rather displeased with the end result.

"Perhaps," he whispered into the uncontentious body's ear, his cold lips pressing gently against the skin, "I shouldn't be so objective of you making my life easier." Though he said it only in an attempt of raising his spirits, and not due to actually meaning it. "But 'easier' doesn't mean 'better', at least in this case." He mumbled on.

The head limply rolled to the side, away from the boy's mouth. _'Tch.' _Even like this, things were still the same. Annoyed at the body for not putting up more of a fuss when being assaulted, B momentarily considered dragging him across the ground by his arm, scraping off layers of skin and leaving bruises all down the body. That would serve him right; being all bashed up like he should be, instead of lying there, looking so damn _peaceful_... However, the idea was quickly dismissed. As much as tearing him apart would prove to be highly entertaining for a short while, it would do little in the long-run. The act would be nothing more than a placebo for a thirst that would never be quenched.

No, instead of dragging the (at least in his current state) bag of meat across the rough, moist gravel and stones, he continued to hold him in his arms as if the body were the most valuable, fragile, rarest thing he could possibly have the incredible fortune of possessing.

...Possessing?

B admired the extreme length of the body's eyelashes; the beautiful purplish-black colour of the rings places around them enhanced their beauty, emphasizing the perfection of his face. Why, he dare say that while motionlessly sleeping and undisturbed, he was even more magnificent than when awake.

And, while carefully carrying the body bridal-style, and much to his delight, B took note of how much more _willing_ he was to be touched. It was rather clear to Beyond that while like this, without any worries of the world behind him, L really _wanted_ him to do this.

L wanted B to possess him.

To own him.

To _have_ him.

Despite being silent, the detective was _longing_ to be taken away from that wretched place. He desired the feeling of being wanted; to be bound down out of sheer need to loved by someone so much that they would never let him go. To hear the promises that they would be together for as long as the air filled their lungs. Of course that's what he had been craving his whole life. L didn't want anything else. Only him.

Only them, alone in the world.

Forever.

How could he deny his love a want like that?

It wouldn't take much to make him see. Not much at all.

Just a small needle and a little vial of liquid was all it would take for them to be one.

Just a little injection.

A prick of the skin.

At last, the cravings would be satisfied.

**Thank you for reading! Apologies for any dissatisfaction!**


	11. Breaking Beauty

**This chapter follows the previous.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**

_'I don't know who I am.'_

As cliché as it sounded, he had to confess it was true, and it would be too difficult to phrase it more creatively.

Bleeding, tired, cold, and naked. But he didn't know who he was. Or where he was, really, but that wasn't so strange since he didn't know _who_ he was. The two kind of go together, usually. Soft hairs were raised up on the back of his neck, but it felt different from being cold. Like he was supposed to be worried about something, but he had no idea what it was. _'Why?'_

Someone shuffled from behind him, but he couldn't move to see who it was. Tugging at his body wasn't doing anything. His wrists and ankles burned in response to his movements. He looked down to see they were fastened by leather straps and the skin was rubbed pinkish red... But he hadn't felt any pain in them before. Like they had always been there, but only just noticed.

He craned his neck, trying to see the person behind him. Maybe they would let him get up? He stung all over, but in his confused state it was far past him _why_.

"Oh!" A pleased voice softly exclaimed from behind him. The man behind him. There wasn't anybody else here. _'Here... is?'_

"You're awake. That's good. I was lonely without you, B." The face came into view, smiling, pleasantly. Pleased. He wore a white shirt and baggy jeans. His hair was all scruffy, too. Black. It matched his eyes- and the bags underneath them. His posture was sloppy; all slouched forward like he had a huge, invisible weight on his back.

...Of course he did. That's how L looked everyday. Why was that strange?

"I'm B..?" his voice felt funny in his throat, as if his throat had been scratched through, though he hadn't said anything before that to make it hurt.

The man, L, kept on smiling and moved over to free the straps on B's wrists.

"Of course you are, Beyond. How could you forget a thing like that?" L unbuckled the first strap and stroked the injured skin, tracing two fingers back and fourth over the wound carefully, as if the way you would treat cracking glass.

"You are Beyond..." He ran a finger up B's arm as he spoke, his voice becoming more gentle with each word, each _letter_ that passed his lips. "...And I am Lawliet. Isn't it?" His fingers caught Beyond's chin, tilting his head upwards and closer to his own. In response, cold fingers raised up to imitate the action on the other man's chin, mirroring the speed and delicateness of the movements perfectly.

"...Yes..." That made sense. L always had been right about everything in the past. There wasn't any reason to not trust him. He wanted to smile back, but his face ached, tired. He wanted L to free his other wrist, but L was making no indications of doing it any time soon. His other hand came to the back of the younger male's skull, caressing it with the tips of his long, slender fingers.

They felt wet.

...Didn't matter. Leaning his head back into the soothing touch, eyelids slipped over his crimson eyes...

"No, don't fall asleep."

_'But your voice is so relaxing.'_

"Stay awake." A pair of soft lips pressed against his own. "I want you awake."

It took what felt like all of his strength to keep his eyelids from dropping, but B obeyed. Since L did so much for him, he deserved this much, didn't he? Even though his vision was all blurry...

"Lawliet!.. You're bleeding!" Smudges of red blossomed into view through the whiteness of his previously clean shirt, growing larger and deeper in colour. It would leave a stain if he didn't clean it. That was no good. L wouldn't want to wear a dirty shirt. He didn't like red. For as long as he could remember, he had hated the colour.

"I know I am. Have you only just realised?" His grin grew broader, teeth starting to show through his mouth. "It's because you did this to me, Beyond. Didn't you know?"

B's eyed widened, horrified that he would hurt someone so important to him.

"I did this?"

"Who else? You brought us here, and you forced me down, oh, even when I struggled, Beyond, you didn't let me go. And then you took out a knife..." His hand let go of his chin and lowered to B's chest, curving around to trace the letter engraved into his flesh, barely visible from the dried blood sprayed around it. "And you carved your letter into your chest..." Red eyes winced as the hand was removed, moving towards his own body. "And my letter into mine."

"No! No, I-"

"_Yes_, Beyond."

"Why would I hurt you?"

The smile grew to it's full capacity, bearing all his red teeth (likely from a bitten tongue from when he was being stabbed, _carved _like meat, by his lover). It looked painful to smile like that. But L looked happy. He'd never looked so happy before.

"Because, my dear Beyond, you're past sanity." He gave a small chuckle to himself before the laughter broke from him in aching sobs, booming around the dark, windowless room, bouncing off the walls in an echo. sobs. "You're _beyond sanity_! You've lost it!" He clenched his sides from laughing, gripping onto the chair B was trapped to to prevent himself from collapsing to the floor.

B didn't find it so funny.

Why was he laughing?

"You're hurting my ears." He forced himself to calm, choking back the hysteria by gulping air and covering his mouth, childish giggles slipping through his fingers as water would.

"Am I? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. But it's funny, isn't it?"

"I don't find it funny at all."

"Of course you do. You have to."

"Have to?"

"Because if L is a genius, B is an extreme genius. If L is a freak, B is an extreme freak."

Teeth gnawed at his lip. "L has gone insane."

_Kya ha ha ha ha ha... Yes, that laugh. That was perfect._

"So it would seem."

"I'm not insane."

...

He lunged. Unexpectedly and rapidly, L flung himself onto the mostly bound raven. He ran fingers down his cheek, his chest, all the way down his body. He placed his lips to his ear and kissed him, licked him, _tasted_ him. The feel of his skin, the sound of his breath, the taste of his flesh- L wanted every sense to be filled with pure Beyond. Every part of him to be emerged in the best drug he could ever desire.

The best is always the most addictive.

_'And there's no patch for a drug as strong as you.'_

'I'm afraid you're mistaken." The bloodied teeth found their way to the tip of B's ear, holding it in a firm bite until beads of blood surfaced, catching the faintest glow of light from the single bulb hanging down behind them.

* * *

><p>L looked both physically and emotionally cold in the corner, but he wouldn't come back.<p>

It was confusing. It hurt. But not just the pain coursing through his body, but being ignored by his lover. He was hunched in his usual fetal position, as always, but his head was buried into his knees.

B didn't like it.

He called his name again, but his voice was raspier than it had been before, so the detective must not have been able to hear. _'Because he wouldn't ignore me on purpose, would he?' _He wouldn't ignore someone he loved so deeply.

He wasn't bound to the chair any more. Lying on a table, free of shackles. _'So why can't I move?'_

Lips parted just enough to call out his name again, but the elder man still wasn't coming back. A sudden wave of emotion overcame the paralysed boy; pain, loneliness and exhaustion, even though he had been asleep twice today, taking over. "_Please_... Please don't leave again..." B begged through watery eyes, too tired to actually cry, but too upset to pretend he wasn't poised to. It wasn't fair of him to be angry, or to ignore him without reason. He hadn't done anything wrong! They had been entangled, heated, writhing against each other's bodies. Smiling, touching, moaning...

_Fucking._

If he wasn't before, B was pretty sure he had just developed a case of athazagoraphobia.

_'Stay for me.'_

"Don't leave me."

_'Am I not worth staying for?'_

L broke.

_''Don't you care about me?'_

He just... had a break down.

_'Don't you love me?'_

He was on the floor at first, but by the time B had registered what was going on he was held in an inescapable embrace; head pounding and bleeding, the warm wet feeling crawling down his neck.

L hadn't hurt him on purpose. He wouldn't. It was just an accident; that was all. He didn't mean to slam his head on the table until spots danced in front of his lover's eyes. "Beyond, I... I'm so sorry, B. Please forgive me. _I'm sorry_." He was weeping into the bloodied mop of hair, arms wrapped around the boy's neck as if his life depended on it.

It was like choking.

Beyond didn't care. He was happy if L would hold him willingly. Did it matter that he hurt him a little first? The pain was well worth the closeness and warmth of his touch. It was worth every drop of blood that rolled down his back. It didn't matter if he bled to death, now. Not as long as Lawliet stayed holding him.

L was so _beautiful_ when he broke down.

**I'd just like to mention that this chapter is meant to sound child-like. I was hoping to imitate the confusion of the characters' feelings by writing in a slightly immature style. If I failed and simply made it sound poorly written, then I'm incredibly sorry.**

**Thank you for reading!**


	12. Waking Beauty

**This chapter follows the previous.  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**

Though I wasn't actually inside L's head at the time (nor have I been at any time, for that matter), I can assume his thoughts with near perfect accuracy.

_'Mother of fuck, I am dying.'_

Though those are more my own personal choice of words than his, I feel they portray what he was feeling (agony) much more quickly and simply than any long, tiring description of the pain that coursed through his body upon his awakening. To put it in other words, there was not a part of L's body that didn't feel any form of pain, burning, or fuzziness. The latter more applying to his head and thought process. Attempting to deduce how badly his deductive abilities had been affected proved difficult, since it was such a large number that getting the correct decimal was causing his head to spin, therefore lowering the number still.

The pain and confusion blended together in harmony to make the urge to, had there been any form of sharp object within reach, stab himself in the face unbearable. It was either fortunate or unfortunate depending on your point of view that with no suitable weapon of suicide nearby or visible, L had no choice but to drop his head between his knees, squeeze his eyes so tightly closed that his lips pursed, and wait for the moment to pass.

It took a damn long time.

It felt like hours before attempting to move from the position didn't result in near-fainting. However, once the spots cleared from his onyx eyes, the detective was finally able to deduce the situation he was in and therefore the explanation for his severe discomfort.

Though still half-squinting, the room's purpose was fairly plain to see. Half-lit, cold, mostly empty, and reeking of chemicals (and undoubtedly, blood). It didn't take the surgical table or the leather straps abandoned on the lone chair across the room to make it obvious this was some form of torture-house. Hell, wasn't this the kind of place the most clique of L's cases took place?

...Actually, judging by the size, lay-out, and colouring of the walls, hadn't one of his recent cases been in a place exactly like this?...

...Aw, fuck.

Well, it didn't matter whether or not it was figured out. The following footsteps and gentle clanging would've answered everything, anyway. The entrance, an old and heavy wooden door with recently oiled hinges as to not make a eerie creak, was pulled open from the far end of the room, sending a freezing wind inside an already cold environment; though it could equally have been nerves, for they were undoubtedly not a door's swing from open air.

They.

L and Beyond.

Original and copy.

Detective and suc- No, I suppose in the current situation what you would call them can't be fully justified by names used in the past. For the time L was held captive by Beyond, the most accurate words to be used were simply: The sane and the insane.

...Though both would likely to call foul had they known I addressed them as such.

That is, both would object to the sanity of the former. The insanity of the latter, had it not been before, would be undeniable after his actions moments later involving the item held in his hand; the source of the clanging that rang through L's head just seconds before.

A bucket. A metal bucket.

Filled to the rim and spilling from the sides with a bright, untainted white paint.

One's dread was equal to the amount of the other's pride of thinking of such a simple solution.

If B could not be L, then B would be what L _wanted_.

**Thank you for reading, and any and all reviews are appreciated no matter what!**


	13. Lying Beauty

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.  
><strong>

**Continuation of the previous chapter... Again!**

Beyond's pale hands quivered momentarily before dropping the empty bucket that once contained a pure white paint to the floor with a noisy _'clang!' _that echoed throughout the dimly lit room; excess droplets of liquid splashing out and rolling onto the floor.

His head drooped down, hair heavy with the newly found weight of the bucket's substance dripping from his skull and sloping down his cheeks. Swinging bits of white as he moves, the boy shook his head from side to side, slowly, as to not spray too much paint away.

"Am I..." he softly croaked out, a weak and hoarse voice, "Am I what you wanted, now?" with eyes looking up from behind his hair, but head remained dropped.

From across the room, L, for once rather disturbed, moved his lips to speak words despite not knowing quite what to say to follow such a sudden and unexpected act. "Back-" he started (despite knowing ending the name would be more than a little foolish) before being swiftly cut off by a startling and shriek-like laugh.

"See, Lawliet? I'm just like him now! I'm just like your favourite! _I'm just like him!_" B, with wildness dancing in his blazing eyes, lurched forwards towards the crouched man, lashing his arms out to grab the infamous white cotton clothing. Surprised by the sudden attack, but not undefended, L was unable to control the actions of his body as he felt his hand unclench into an open palm that promptly stuck the paint-smeared cheek and dived into B, sending them both crashing to the floor, the paint-drenched head banging onto the ground with just enough force to stun him, leaving a splattering of white as a pillow. While the attacker was dazed, the detective slammed the younger to the floor and pinned his wrists with a grasp that (despite his fragile appearance) left the successor mostly immobile.

"_Stop_." The fierceness of the demand would have sent shivers down the spine of any sane being. "That's _enough_." The detective spat, his words ringing throughout the small room.

With a hurt expression draped across his face, the red eyes appeared to glisten with wetness, though it easily could have been a trick of the light. Or an act; I wouldn't be so bold as to say he couldn't be that good of a liar.

Remaining on the ground for several minutes, the older male hardly knew how to respond or how to react, which failed to surprise me; he was socially inept at the easiest of situations, so the fact that he felt unsure of how to go about something quite as, to put it simply, _bizarre_ as this was the only way it could be. The uncertainty led to a cold silence, knowing he needed to say something, but unsure of what the hell it should be. Listening closely, even with the mixture of both panicked and clenched, harsh breaths, the sound of droplets hitting the floor was barely audible.

Unaware that his grasp had caused fingernails to dig into the boy's flesh, L loosened his grasp slightly, not wanting to leave marks in the far-less-than-pure skin. The hands, wrists and arms remained motionless, as if not noticing any change in pressure being forced into them.

B's mouth twitched.

His eyes darted across the body of the one keeping him held down, taking in so much as the every crease in clothing change as as the rhythmic breaths rose and fell from his chest, almost hypnotic.

Moistening his lips, he forced his eyes to be brought back to the piercing gaze of onyx pools.

"I wanted to be what... you wanted..." Halfway through, his voice gave out, the sound coming out as a mere creak of the throat; but lip-reading wasn't necessary. They both knew what he wanted to say, anyway.

"I know." L half-whispered back, involuntarily mimicking the volume. The unpleasant sensation rising in his chest was new and unwelcome, and not one to be messed with by risking a standard and suddenly uncomfortable tone.

"...I tried, Lawliet... To be everything that you..."

The pale lips hovering above his face gently hushed him, as a parent would an upset child.

"I know."

_'But you knew you were just trying for your own peace of mind.'_

Beyond felt his wrists slowly being fully freed. Instead of holding him in place, the detective's arms, gently as you would handle glass, moved around to B's shoulders and back, lifting him from the hardness of the floor and into... L. Not his warmth, for his temperature was barely above that of the cold room. Not his smell, blocked out by the disgusting fumes of paint. Just the feeling of pure _Lawliet. _A feeling that Beyond constantly wished to be for himself. A selfish indulgence that should belong only to him, and especially for him. A should-be guilty pleasure that had turned to an addiction.

An obsession.

A drug.

Event half-high on the suffocating fumes, B still had enough awareness to know what he had to say, even if he couldn't register the reply. Hurting, tired, nauseous, but still conscious enough to know what had to be done. That was the worst part. Even with all that he had done, he still registered each and every word- every letter that parted from his lips with such certainty that he could've been saying them every day for his entire life and he wouldn't have known a difference. Whether he actually intended on being unaware of the confession, or whether he had decided upon doing all that he had done on that day was never fully confirmed or denied. I never got a full answer; but that wasn't important. I didn't need one. It didn't matter, in the end.

"I'm insane, aren't I, Lawliet?"

"...I know."

Liar.

* * *

><p>They were hospitalised for quite a while, after that, of course.<p>

B had been practising long enough on whatever he could find when it came to stitching wounds to make sure that his letter would remained scarred onto L's chest. Whether it was to be a reminder of his many burdens or a name tag... Well, the doctors and nurses probably wouldn't have considered either. For them, it was just fortunate that one fresh wound had been sewn up for them. One less job; that's all it was. I suspect that figured out that the boy who had carried (or, rather, half dragged,) the unconscious man in to the ward had opted for sewing up his wound instead of his own to prevent death by blood loss. Maybe they thought it was heroic.

We all went to visit him. All of us. He was weird on the first day. He didn't deny us a visit, but he hardly moved. For a while, the sound of the heart monitor was the only thing that convinced us he was alive. I even came to doubt the authenticity of that.

B wouldn't let any of us visit him. Hospital visits still haunted him, even if this time he was the one being visited. Even if everyone leaving would still be breathing, it still must have been a disgusting reminder for him.

L made up some sap story when he was fully in his right mind again (for his standards, I mean). Some bull-crap about a trade in a back-alley that went wrong, and how he and B had gone to be nearby but accidentally got more involved than they intended, ending up as hostages. It sounded to me like a pretty lame excuse. I was surprised that it went down so well with everyone. I guess I'm not the type to be willing to play ignorant; especially when L's safety is involved.

Quilish knew, of course. Even without seeing the scars, he figured out what happened the morning L was discovered missing. I think, like L, he saw it coming. He was waiting for it since A died. Rather, since the day of A's funeral was announced...

Well, you get my point.

It isn't like he just accepted it, though. Don't get me wrong, he really debated allowing L to handle the following situation on his own. But what else could he do? He wouldn't dare attempt to force the detective into something he was against. He couldn't. All he could do was wait for the final decision. I didn't get it at first. Maybe I still believed the World's Greatest Detective to be unable to do wrong. That he was perfect.

It didn't occur to me that he was human.

He had made the same assumption.

**Thank you for reading~!**


End file.
